On Reaching Out

A couple of weeks ago, something happened to me that's never happened before. One afternoon, on a day when I was already recovering from a recent cold, I felt my chest tighten, the left side of my face being pulled by pain and I thought: my God, I think I'm having a heart attack.

It had been happening for most of that afternoon, but on the train after work, it became pronouncedly worse.  I wanted to go home and ignore it, but instead, I texted my son to say simply: Not feeling well. I'm going to the doctor. 

At Urgent Care, they discovered that my blood pressure was an alarming 180 over 130. Completely sky high for me, someone who doesn't have high blood pressure.  The EKG didn't seem to allay their concerns and they calmly suggested I let an ambulance take me to a hospital, at which point I burst into tears because as anyone who knows me knows that the first thought I had was: I don't have time for this. I am not someone who has heart attacks; I am someone who helps others who have heart attacks. 

Which -- I know before anyone says it -- is ridiculous.

But I went. Without going into all the details, there were many EKGs, bloodwork to check enzymes and a stress test. I stayed the night, met with a wonderful cardiologist from Australia and in the end was given a diagnosis: stress.

It was *not* the heart. It was a panic attack.

While on one hand, that's "good" -- no surgical intervention required -- the body was telling me something, something I was being forced to notice. And worse than that? The body was forcing something that now OTHERS would notice.  In my mind, there would be shaking heads and rolling eyes. A heart attack was bad enough -- but a NON-heart attack?? I felt ridiculous. I felt embarrassed. I was ashamed.

BUT...friends. There are friends. I have friends, and in all honesty, to paraphrase Lou Gehrig, I am the luckiest woman on the face of this earth.

What brought me back home to my mind *and* in my body were my friends.  They talked and texted me, telling me that whatever was going on with me was okay. REALLY okay. I felt chest pain and acted on it? GOOD CALL. I felt chest pain and learned it was a panic attack? GOOD CALL.  No differentiation, no judgement.

My guardian angel-across-the-street came right to the hospital with a phone charger because -- of course-- my phone was almost dead. She sat and talked, literally talking my blood pressure down, announcing the lower numbers as they dropped.

She was also the one who told me the next week that coincidentally, a male friend of hers casually came into her office and told her that a few days before, he'd thought he was having a heart attack.  He went to the emergency room, stayed overnight for tests and learned it was a panic attack. No big deal. NO big deal, she said. He wasn't ashamed; it was just what happened. He'd gotten information and was glad he did.

It is in that spirit that I wrote today's blog. I have been thinking about it for the last couple of weeks. I have been open about other life events in the interest of demystifying them and validating experiences, particularly around those that women historically don't talk about: miscarriages, post-partum depression.

I routinely tell new mothers to reach out immediately if they think they aren't feeling "the way they should" which is a pretty big sign. I realized that for mental health issues, it isn't as obvious. There may not be a "baby" to prompt the conversation.

SO I am putting it out there. I was caught off-guard by my body's response to life's stress. Once I got it, I responded and am responding in appropriate ways -- care from doctors and therapist, accepting compassion from friends and family, and most importantly; paying attention to my mental health.

My Irish angel IS right; there is NOTHING to be ashamed of.  Nothing.  

Your encore for today? Check in with yourself. Feeling pain, whether a broken bone or a broken spirit, it's all valid. Talking this over with my co-workers, I said something that they said I should embroider somewhere: The body doesn't lie. It's truth.. You may not need a stent or bypass surgery. That doesn't mean you don't need care. You deserve care, no matter what.

Peace.